The night sky over Kestral did not hold stars. It held scars. Faint streaks of light drifted like wounds across the heavens, each marking where a Bridge had once burned and collapsed. Arin Vale had learned not to look up too long, because every scar was a reminder of what had been lost, and tonight he needed no more reminders.
He was already running.
The alarm bells had shaken him awake in the barracks, and by the time he strapped on his worn breastplate and grabbed his spear, the air outside was already vibrating with a low, sickening hum. It was the sound of a Bridge under strain. They were stationed at the Fallen Bridge, one of the last half-functional crossings between the Mortal Realm and the abyss of Nethermere. For months, commanders had said it was stable. Tonight, it screamed.
Arin's boots struck stone as he raced along the eastern causeway. The city below had erupted in panic, villagers rushing with bundles on their backs, mothers dragging children, men trying to lead pack mules toward the southern gate. Above it all, a jagged tear of light was opening across the span of the Bridge, flaring from skyfire on one side and demonic flame on the other. It was not supposed to happen. Both realms were bound by treaty, forbidden from direct entry. But treaties did not stop hunger or pride.
"Vale! With me!"
The shout came from Captain Dreskin, a thick-necked veteran with scars across his arms. Arin pivoted, joining three other conscripts as they sprinted toward the Bridge mouth. The stones shook under their feet, each vibration louder than the last.
"Civilians first," Dreskin barked. "Hold the line long enough to clear them. After that, pray."
Arin swallowed the dry knot in his throat. Orders made sense on parchment. On the Bridge, they felt like prayers already unanswered. Still, he pressed forward, spear gripped tight in his calloused hands. He was nineteen, a soldier because orphans in Kestral had no other choice.
The first wave hit before they reached the midpoint. A ripple of skyfire poured from the Aetherian side, brilliant and terrible, colliding with a surge of red-black flame from Nethermere. The impact split the air like glass, shards of light raining down in molten fragments. Screams rose from villagers who had not yet escaped. Arin did not think; he just moved.
He lunged toward a child frozen in terror at the edge of the causeway. The boy's face reflected the firestorm, wide-eyed, paralyzed. Arin dropped his spear, scooped the boy into his arms, and rolled across the stones as a flaming chunk of bridge shattered where they had stood. The sound was not a crack, not thunder, but a scream. The Bridge itself cried out, a sound that carved down Arin's spine and rattled his teeth.
"Run!" Dreskin roared at him, hauling a woman by the arm toward the gate. Arin thrust the boy into the woman's grasp, then snatched up his spear again. His chest burned, though no fire had touched him. When he glanced down, he saw a faint glow spreading beneath the edge of his armor, lines of light pulsing-like veins across his skin.
He froze.
It was the mark. The one he had never spoken of to anyone, not even Mira. The sigil that had first appeared three years ago, after another Bridge had collapsed during a raid. Then, it had been faint, almost like a scar. Now it burned brighter, pale silver, too alive to ignore.
"Vale!" Dreskin's voice snapped him back. "Hold your line!"
Arin forced his breath steady and braced his spear, shoving the fear deep into the pit of his stomach. He did not have the luxury of questions. Civilians still swarmed behind him, stumbling through smoke and flame. He could think later. If it came later.
From the far side of the Bridge, figures surged into view. Not human. Their forms shifted with every step, shapes built from shadows and sinew, mouths where no mouths should be. Demon vanguards. They carried hooked blades and chains, their eyes burning with hunger.
Arin's hands tightened. He had seen them before, from a distance. Seeing them this close was different. Their presence pressed against his skin like knives.
The conscripts formed a half-circle. Dreskin barked orders, voice cracking against the thunder. "Hold until the last family clears! No step back!"
The demons roared, chains whipping. One lunged, faster than Arin expected. Reflex overrode terror. He thrust his spear forward, catching the creature through its shoulder. Black ichor splashed across the stones, sizzling like acid. The demon shrieked, clawing at him even as it collapsed.
Arin staggered, heart hammering. His chest seared with pain, the silver mark pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Then, in the same instant, a flare of red lit beneath it. He looked down in horror. A second sigil was there, jagged and crimson, overlapping the first.
Two marks.
The impact hit him like ice. No human carried one mark, let alone two. It was impossible, unclean. If the others saw.
Another shriek tore through the air, saving him from thought. More demons surged forward, joined by streaks of radiant skyfire from the opposite end of the Bridge. Arin glimpsed silhouettes of Aetherian warriors, armor gleaming with cruel beauty, wings flaring behind them. Supreme Beings, descending in defiance of the treaty.
The Bridge screamed louder.
It felt as though the stones themselves were alive beneath Arin's boots, writhing under the pressure of too much power. He gasped for air, every breath tasting of iron and ash. He could not tell which side was worse, demon or divine. Both were tearing the mortal realm apart, and he stood in the middle, trembling, holding a spear too small for what raged before him.
Another family stumbled behind him, a woman dragging two children by the hands. Arin spun, covering their retreat, his arms shaking as he held the spear firm. A demon's chain lashed toward him. He ducked, slammed the spear upward, and drove the creature back long enough for the woman to run past.
"Vale!" Dreskin again, blood streaking his arm. "Fall back! The Bridge will not hold!"
Arin hesitated. If they left now, more civilians would be trapped. But Dreskin was right. The scream of the Bridge had become unbearable, a wail that sank into marrow. The air split above, crackling with fractures of light and shadow.
Arin braced himself. Then the world cracked open.
A shattering roar ripped through stone and sky. The Bridge convulsed, slabs buckling underfoot. Arin dropped his spear, hands clawing for balance as the causeway split in jagged lines. Villagers screamed. Soldiers tumbled into the void. Demons howled as fragments of the Bridge devoured them into nothing.
Arin's chest burned with both marks, silver and crimson flaring together in blinding light. He collapsed to one knee, clutching his armor, eyes wide as the world spun.
And then silence.
Not true silence, but the breathless stillness after a scream, the moment when sound holds its breath. Arin blinked through the haze, and in the distance, through the fracture of light, he saw her.
A figure bound in chains of radiance, armor torn, wings broken. Seraphine Auriel, an Aetherian war-captain, was dragged to her knees by the collapse.
She raised her head and met his eyes across the ruin. Silver fire glowed in hers.
For a moment, the Bridge itself seemed to hold them both in its memory. Then the stones gave way again, and the scream returned.
Arin forced himself upright. Civilians were still alive, scattered across the causeway, clinging to whatever they could. His legs shook, but he ran anyway, because running had always been the only choice.
Behind him, the marks on his chest burned, one silver, one crimson, neither willing to fade.
The stones beneath Arin's boots lurched as if alive, groaning under the weight of forces that did not belong in the mortal realm. Smoke curled from the cracks, carrying the stench of burned iron and sulfur. He forced himself forward, spear trembling in his hands, eyes darting between the screaming civilians and the broken figure chained in the distance.
"Vale, keep moving!" Dreskin shouted, dragging a limping soldier toward the gate. His voice cracked under strain.
"I am not leaving them!" Arin shot back, pushing past another villager.
The captain spat blood but did not argue. Orders meant little when the Bridge itself was unraveling.
Another quake rippled across the span. Arin staggered, caught himself, then caught sight of two children clinging to a half-toppled wagon. Their father was pinned beneath it, blood pouring from his crushed leg. The wagon tilted closer to the edge of the Bridge, threatening to slide into the abyss below.
Arin sprinted.
"Hold on!" he shouted, throwing his spear aside. He planted his shoulder against the wagon and heaved. Muscles screamed, sweat stung his eyes, but the weight would not give. The father's face twisted in pain as the wagon shifted an inch closer to the void.
"Help me, damn it!" Arin yelled over his shoulder.
A fellow conscript scrambled beside him, face pale with terror. Together they strained until the wagon creaked upward just enough for the man to crawl free. The children shrieked with relief. The conscript pulled them back, while Arin let the wagon crash into the abyss, sparks trailing as it vanished.
The father clutched Arin's arm, eyes wide with gratitude. "Bless you, lad."
Arin nodded but said nothing. His chest was burning again, the twin sigils pulsing, brighter than before. He tugged his armor to hide the glow and shoved the thought away. If Dreskin or the others noticed, they might fear him more than the demons.
Another roar split the air. From the Aetherian side of the Bridge, figures of light advanced, armor gleaming like molten silver, wings spread wide. They moved with divine grace, but their weapons cut without mercy. Skyfire poured in radiant arcs, incinerating demon flesh and mortal stone alike.
Arin froze. He had dreamed of seeing a Supreme Being's host once, dreamed of their beauty. But there was nothing beautiful about this. Their light did not distinguish between demon and villager. A man who had tripped near the causeway screamed as fire consumed him.
"Captain!" Arin shouted. "They are killing us!"
Dreskin's face was set hard, jaw clenched as he dragged another recruit back. "Keep them moving! You cannot stop gods!"
But Arin could not look away. One of the radiant warriors paused, head turning. Its helm was sculpted like a crown of flame. Its gaze was fixed on Arin.
The silver mark in his chest flared brighter, answering the warrior's sight.
Arin's breath hitched. He stumbled back, clutching his chest. For a moment, it felt as if his heart was being pulled upward, strings tying him to the sky. His knees weakened.
"Vale!" The conscript beside him gripped his arm. "Stay with me, man!"
Arin forced air into his lungs, forced his legs steady. "Move. Just move."
The warrior's gaze shifted away. But the silver mark continued to throb, as though it had recognized kin.
Arin turned sharply, eyes landing again on the chained figure across the ruin of the Bridge. Seraphine Auriel. Her armor bore the crest of an Aetherian captain, though cracked and blackened. Chains of radiant light bound her wings to her back, pinning her in place. She knelt but did not bow. Her head was raised, eyes burning through the haze, locked on him.
Arin's stomach twisted. Why was she chained? Who had bound her? And why, in the chaos, did she only look at him?
A scream dragged him back. A demon had broken through, chain-whip flashing. Dreskin struggled to parry, his sword knocked from his hand. Without thought, Arin hurled himself forward. He snatched up his discarded spear mid-run and drove it into the demon's chest with a cry that tore his throat raw. Black ichor splattered his face as the creature convulsed, chains falling limp.
Dreskin gasped for breath, clutching his wounded arm. "Vale… I owe you."
"No debts," Arin muttered, panting. His chest burned, not just from exertion. The crimson sigil had joined the silver, both blazing in painful unison. He gritted his teeth.
"Captain, you are bleeding badly," the other conscript said, voice quaking.
"Not your concern," Dreskin growled. He shoved the young soldier back toward the fleeing villagers. "Move them, now!"
Arin wiped his spear clean against the stones, though the ichor sizzled like acid. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he heard a whisper. It was not human. Not Skyfire. Not demonflame. It was deeper, older.
The Ladder itself, the Bridge's soul, pressed against his mind.
Remember.
He staggered, shaking his head. The whisper faded, but the taste of it lingered like ash.
"Vale!" Dreskin barked again. "Eyes up!"
More figures surged across the collapsing Bridge, demons snarling, sky warriors burning. Between them, civilians screamed, trapped in the chaos. Arin tightened his grip on his spear.
He had no time for whispers.
He set his stance, heart pounding, twin marks blazing under his armor. The Bridge screamed again, louder, as though it felt his choice.
And in that scream, Seraphine Auriel finally rose, chains rattling, wings half-spread. Her lips moved, though he could not hear her words across the gulf.
But he knew, with a clarity that froze his blood, that whatever vow bound her was about to drag him into a war far greater than this Bridge.